House, DADA
by TimeLoopedPowerGamer
Summary: Dr. Gregory House, Head of the St. Mungo's Department of Diagnostic Magic, was hired as a teacher for the Defense Against the Dark Arts class at Hogwarts: '92-'93 school year. After months of pain, terror, and attacks on students – and also Slytherin's monster – Dumbledore finally decides he needs to deal with the situation before Minnie finds that Castration Curse in the library.


**House, D.A.D.A.****  
><strong>by _TimeLoopedPowerGamer_

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter _or_ Gregory House.

**Note:** My first complete challenge fic, an answer to a post by /u/viking_ on reddit: "what happens if Gregory House taught DADA?"

This. This happens. I whipped it up in an hour, because it seemed so obvious.

Link to the challenge post in my Profile.

* * *

><p>Headmaster Dumbledore stared across his desk at Professor House, who was sitting sideways on an antique armchair that might very well be worth more than their yearly salaries combined.<p>

"You have missed twelve classes in a row, Professor House. This is not acceptable."

House rolled his eyes and lounged harder, dropping his head back over the side of the chair and kicking his good leg back and forth over the arm. "The one I _actually_ missed was because of personal issues. Like, not _personally_ wanting to. I get three of those a year. So, two more before you can start bitching me out about it." House nodded sanctimoniously, as he always did before making an annoyingly correct technical point. "And I had those eleven other classes officially covered, just like it says in that teacher's comic book."

"You mean the Hogwarts Teacher's Rules and Guidelines, One Hundred and Third Edition, consisting as of last printing of three hundred and seven pages?"

"Yeah, that one." House made a serious face at him. "Good bathroom reading."

Dumbledore looked down at the parchment in front of him and frowned. "Four of those substitute teachers were random adults you apparently met at a pub the night before – _one_ of those was actually sober the next day while teaching. Then we have here a report that one teacher was actually a fourth year Hufflepuff student. The rest were all women and...err, one _man_," the old wizard coughed, "of negotiable affection that you hired using the Hogwarts Emergency Expenses Account."

"Hey, that was a first year class that kid taught, and he had scored Os on all first through third year work. I like tall, pretty-boy overachievers with funny accents – so sue me. And first year is boring and easy. It went fine. Diggory's still alive. And those other classes got...educational, real-world experiences."

The old school administrator sighed. "And three students report that your 'substitute' for your last fifth year, joint Slytherin and Gryffindor class was a...house elf?"

"So?" House asked, a twinkle in his eye as he twirled his wand-cane idly in one hand. "They work hard, they don't ask for unions or benefits, or even salaries! I thought that was everything you people wanted in an educator."

"This has to stop," Dumbledore said sternly, looking over his round glasses at the obstinate man. It had as much apparent effect on him as coal on a niffler.

"Listen," the brightest and most infuriating mind in the medical world said, thumping his good leg back down on the ground and leaning forward on his wand-cane. "You know, and _I know_ that this thing ends at the end of the school year in a month. I'm gone then – no cursed exit interview for me.

"So I'll just keep avoiding classes with everyone except the seventh-year 'Claws – and thank you, by the way, for putting almost all the barely-legal, genius witches in one place. Because," his eyebrows flexed wildly, "**DAMN**. And you just work on finding that basilisk before-"

The Headmaster gasped.

"Oh, shut up!" House shouted, shooting to his feet. "You didn't know?!" He gestured wildly with his wand-cane. "That little girl, whazherface – wild hair, nose in a book? Likely going to grow up looking like a low-grade supermodel based on her bone structure? Hand in the air, boringly right all the time? _Obviously_ crushing on the Potter boy? Knowing my luck, probably end up running my hospital in a couple of decades. _Her_? She figured it out, and she's THIRTEEN! And paralyzed in that closet you call a hospital ward. That's obviously why she was targeted, she was getting too close! What are you waiting for, Harry Fucking Potter to find it and kill it at the last minute with a goddamn MAGIC SWORD or something?!"

Dumbledore shakily removed his reading glasses and started cleaning them on the sleeve of his purple, crushed velvet robe. "Thank you for...the insights. I...I will take this all under advisement, Professor House."

But he was talking to an empty room. Professor House had already left, and the office door was just clicking shut. Dumbledore had a feeling that the Chamber of Secrets wasn't going to stay a secret for even another week. He reached for a quill and made a note to have Filius double-check the wards on the seventh year Ravenclaw girls' dorm. If his guess was right, the Head of Ravenclaw had less than a week to upgrade them.

He paused, quill still over the page.

And another note, to ensure they were effective against polyjuiced clones of female seventh year Ravenclaw students and things that would usually register as ghosts. If there was one thing Professor House had taught him, it was to think outside the box. Now, if only he could get the curiously rude young man to join his Order when Voldemort inevitably reappeared.


End file.
